Oh ! this is holy ground, tho' never blest
By priest, or hallowed by religious rite:
Here Nature's balmiest incense rises; here
Heaven's brightest fires descend; and here a chorus,
Sweeter than ever thro' cathedral aisle
The anthem swelled, warbles from morn to eve
Immortal melody. The gentle Avon
Wanders, like thought, down its own flowery vale,
Now hid between its willows, and now bursting
Bright with the beam of heaven, upon the sight,
Kissing away the moss that hinders it.
The everlasting hills are ranged around
Magnificent; and on the highest summit,
The noontide rays in lines of glory fall,
And form a path — a path of light that seems
To lead from earth tOheaven! Oh! how the heart
Leaps, like a babe at the maternal smile,
In such a scene as this! for then it feels
Its fellowship with nature. Of one clay
The world and man were made; and there are times
When that mysterious union's felt — then sweet
And strange emotions, like remembered music
Steal o'er the soul, and every bud of feeling,
Like Caerulea, when the day-God smiles,
Opens, expands, and blossoms.